


Breathe, Baby, Breathe

by mikki_strange



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Although I Did Some Hardcore Editing, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending (kinda..?), I Guess...?, Insecurity, M/M, Not Beta Read, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Stiles-centric, TW: Panic Attacks, Tw: Self Hatred, just in case, scott and stiles fight, steamy makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 19:53:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3146606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikki_strange/pseuds/mikki_strange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His thoughts are so goddamn loud and sometimes Stiles just wants to scream until he can’t hear them any more.</p>
<p>OR<br/>The two instances that led to Stiles breaking and the one where Scott finally steps in to save him from himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe, Baby, Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, hello all~ *streamers* ._.  
> Yeah anyways, as it says in the tags this fic has not been edited by anyone but myself and as such I am responsible for any and all mistakes still hiding within my work. (I will find you, and I will correct you!) If, however, you are as much of a grammar and spelling Nazi as I am feel free to leave a comment pointing out any mistakes you happen to stumble across! Annnd without further ado, on to the Sciles!! (bbs *.*)  
> \- Mikki Strange

1-  
The huge window in his room is perfect for looking out of, Stiles muses, if only a certain glaring sourwolf would stop climbing through it long enough for Stiles to get a really good look. Well, now is the perfect time; the pack went to hunt down some rogue werewolves that have been killing humans in the town over, and left him alone. Him, being the weakest link, the puny human, the only one in the pack who couldn’t protect everyone. 

What better time to be looking out of his window? The view, despite the build up, sucks and he saw it plenty of times B.D (Before Derek), but he just stares, hands wringing together as he thinks. His thoughts are so goddamn loud and sometimes Stiles just wants to scream until he can’t hear them any more. Screaming would be better than the silence in his room.

Stiles sighs loudly, really just to assure himself that he was here in his bedroom and that the pressing silence hadn't enveloped him no matter how much it feels like it’s going to. He almost wishes it would; he isn't really important enough to keep hanging around, being the weak human he is. He knows it’s a terrible way to look at himself but since he got his best friend turned into a werewolf he hasn't been able to get over the fact that, really, he has no helpful qualities past the fact that he can look stuff up on the internet. Stiles can remember every single time Scott has had to step in and save him, or Derek, or Danny, or even Isaac, heck even Lydia has done it before, and knows that he could never return the favour. 

And he thinks this is it; he’s finally put too much pressure on himself and he’s fucking breaking. He thoughts are so goddamn loud, too loud, and all he can think is ‘not good enough, not fucking good enough’. His chest is constricting and the sound of his raspy breathing is echoing in the silence of his room; in fact, it’s like the silence has gotten heavier and heavier until he can feel it enveloping him in its horrible stillness. And Stiles knows he’s on the verge of a panic attack, vaguely in the back of his mind he realises that he hasn't had one in years, but he can’t calm himself down. No one would be there to save poor, little, human Stiles when he offs himself through a panic attack. It’s a dark thought but that seems to be all Stiles is capable of nowadays.

His mind runs wild; supplying images of his friends’ faces looking at him in pity, pity at his weakness, images of Derek finally wising up and kicking Stiles out of the pack, images of Scott realising that his best friend has nothing to offer him and brushing him aside for someone better. It isn't until his eyes focus enough to take in his surrounding that he realises he had dropped to a weird, hunched-over, crouch with he hands pressing against his ears like his thoughts were actually being spoken to him by some outside thing and not coming from his own mind. 

Then he hears it; a long howl that pierces through the haze of panic and self-hatred Stiles has wrapped himself up in. It’s the signal his pack had organised ages ago to tell Stiles, or any other pack member, that they were home and everyone was safe. It feels like someone has encased Stiles in a warm hug when the sound registers in him and it’s just enough to make Stiles even out his breathing fractionally until the pressure on his chest is noticeably lighter. 

His head is pounding when Stiles takes mental stock of whether or not he’s stable enough to go visit the pack, just to be sure that everyone is fine (which, of course they would be, they're freaking werewolves and any injury they obtain heals almost instantly… unlike Stiles who is the bearer of a decent array of jagged scars). He decides that maybe in a few minutes he would calm down enough that they wouldn't be able to smell the panic attack on him, so he changes out of his sweat-soaked clothes (ugh, gross) and takes two pain relievers to get rid of his mammoth headache. And, though he doesn't realise it at the time, Stiles has just accidentally opened a door to exactly what will finally break him.

 

2-

“What the fuck Stiles?! What did you think you were doing? That you could be the hero? You’re fucking human, not a werewolf; you don’t heal in two fucking seconds!” Scott’s furious words were heard all through Hale House and every wolf in the pack whimpered slightly, (yes, even Erika) pitying Stiles for having to take the brunt of that fury.

“I was thinking that the blade was made from wolfsbane! Scott, you may be able to heal from normal wounds, hell you’re almost invincible to them, but if that blade had hit you you would have died. I couldn't sit by and let my best friend die!” Stiles, equally furious, refused to let Scott think that what he had done as wrong. He had finally done something right; he had protected his pack and he regrets nothing.

“You almost bled out! If the wolfsbane didn't kill you being fucking stabbed would have! And you wonder why we make you stay behind sometimes?!” silence rings out when Scott stops speaking and he immediately wishes he could take the words back. The absolutely crushed look on Stiles’ face makes his chest ache in regret but the look is gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a mask of indifference that hurts Scott more than he could put into words.

“I think I’ll head home now. Nice to see you guys.” The words are cold, empty, and everyone who hears them winces; Stiles shouldn't sound so… so… hollow. As soon as Scott hears his voice he knows he screwed up big time. But Stiles just smiles like he’s fine and hides his shaking hands behind his back because it’s finally happening, Scott is finally realising that he isn't worth the trouble of being friends with. 

And Scott can smell the self-hatred coming off Stiles in waves; it itches his nose and makes him want to whine like a sad puppy but he just sits back and watches as Stiles walks out of the door, leaving the smell of blood and pain behind him. Stiles doesn't mean to, but as he gets into his car he feels his stomach tighten and pull at the messy stitches Derek did to sew up the gaping stab wound on his side (and had the guy with the knife aimed a little more to the left Stiles would probably be missing a kidney) and he lets out a weird mix of sounds through his pain; like a hiss and a whimper smashed together that makes Scott want to cry. 

He drives away with Scott’s words ringing in his ears.

 

3-

Stiles hasn't seen his pack in a week, he hasn't been to school in a week, he spent the majority of his week lying in his bed (only getting up to go to the toilet, drink water, and occasionally to eat something. He hasn't really been eating much lately, he can’t bring to eat anything more than a snack) and he hasn't stopped thinking long enough to sleep the entire time. He feels terrible, and he knows he looks even worse, but it doesn't matter because he has nothing. Scott, his best friend, finally admitted the truth of Stiles’ weakness.

He’s just lying on his bed staring at his ceiling and thinking (of course, when is he not? his mind never fucking shuts up) when he hears banging on the front door. Stiles knows it’s probably Scott, or Derek, or Lydia, or Allison, or Isaac, or Danny, or Erika, but he hasn't opened the door since he drove away from Hale House exactly eight days and five hours ago (yes, he’s been counting). When his dad is home he sends his friends (should he say ex-friends now?) away with the excuse that Stiles has fallen ill and needs to recover. He knows he should thank his dad for covering for him but Stiles still can’t speak past the panic clawing at his throat day and night.

Stiles would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't upset that he has to ignore his ‘ex-friends’, and every time he does it’s like a new crack appears in his carefully constructed mask of emotionlessness until Stiles can’t look in the mirror without expecting his face to be covered in fissures. Stiles feels the familiar weight settle in his chest, like a boulder made it’s home under his ribcage, and all he can hear over the pounding of his own heart is the equally loud pounding on the door. Whoever is at the door isn’t going to give up this time. 

The realisation sends Stiles spiralling into panic. What if they come in and want to talk to him? What would they say? Scott already said what he knew everyone was thinking anyway. He feels like he can’t breathe yet he knows he’s breathing far too fast, and it’s like being caught in a huge wave without taking a breath before getting hit. His chest is aching and he’s clawing at it; desperately trying to relieve the pressure on it. Nothing changes, nothing lets up, but Stiles feels something give deep within him and he’s hit with memory after memory of all the times he fucked up and, worst of all, the time Scott called him on it. He can faintly hear the sound of broken sobbing and realises with a start that it’s him making the noise. He couldn't care less. His vision is going black around the edges and Stiles can’t breathe and his mind is screaming that he’s stupid, so fucking stupid, and worthless, pathetic, and weak. 

Then a pair of arms pull him backwards into a warm chest, a familiar pair of arms and chest. Stiles is sobbing hysterically now and it’s Scott, it’s always Scott, holding him together when he thinks he’s breaking. He can feel a pair of lips press against his forehead, can feel them moving, can hear Scott whispering his name like it’s a prayer, and knows that he’s saying something else that he can’t quite understand while his thoughts are so loud and dangerous, but he can’t for the life of him find the words to respond. When Stiles can focus enough on Scott’s words he realises that he’s been screaming his thoughts out loud, that Scott’s been keeping up a strangely soothing dialogue to combat his insults.

Pathetic. Oh, god, so pathetic

“No, Stiles. Oh god no. You’re so brave, Stiles, so fucking brave.”

Stupidstupidstupidstupid

“Stiles, believe me buddy you aren’t even close to being stupid. You’re smarter than Lydia and that’s something to be proud of” 

Weak…. (Stiles gives a shuddering breath, interrupting himself with his own hysteria, and stutters through four more ‘weak’s before Scotts arms tighten around him and his lips are at Stiles’ ear whispering sweet words)

“Shit. This is all my fault. Stiles you’re so strong; so strong, and so loved. I- shit- I love you Stiles, ok? I freaking love you and I only got mad last week because I thought I might have lost my best friend, and not only that, the guy I’m in love with. I, god, I’m so sorry Stiles. So sorry.”

Scott rests his cheek on top of Stiles’ head and Stiles is slowly relaxing under his touch, his hand running up and down Stiles’ back in a soothing repetitive motion, and Stiles can hear every fluttering beat of Scott’s heart from where his head rests on his best friend’s chest. And Stiles loves him too, he loves him so much it hurts, and he must gasp the words out somewhere between his incoherent mumbling about how worthless he is because Scott just shushes him and places a kiss on his forehead as Stiles focuses on getting his breathing back to normal. 

The steady beat of Scott’s heart is bringing him back to himself and he stops muttering under his breath about the horrible thoughts he had previously kept to himself but he cant stem the flow of “I love you”s and “I’m so sorry”s pouring from his mouth.Scott is begging him to stop apologising, telling him it’s not his fault; that, if anything, Scott is the one responsible for Stiles’ current state.

It takes Stiles another few minutes to get himself back under control but Scott’s just happy that his best friend isn't breaking down anymore, that he’s going to be ok now; because no matter what is said and done after this Scott would never leave Stiles to deal with this kind of self-hatred by himself (not after being the cause of some of it) but this wasn't a pity thing, not even close, Scott needs Stiles to be happy for him to be happy. Stiles is his everything and the last week had been hell for him, knowing exactly where Stiles was but also knowing he was just out of reach. 

“Scott?”

“Yeah?” 

“… Thank you”

“You don’t need to thank me. I love you Stiles and I’m sorry I fucked up so much last week”

Stiles tilts his head up from Scott’s chest and nervously licks his lips. Scott’s eyes follow the movement with a kind of want shining in his eyes that makes Stiles’ breath hitch. And then they’re kissing and neither of them care to remember who kissed who; all they can think about is how perfectly their lips fit together and how, if they hadn't been so stubborn about denying their feelings, they could have been kissing like this for months (even years). Stiles doesn't really know when he moved his hands but suddenly they’re carding through Scott’s hair and it’s far softer than he thought it would be. When he tugs it softly Scott lets out a light moan that sends shivers through him, and when Scott nips his bottom lip in retaliation Stiles can hardly hold back his own (probably embarrassingly loud) moan. Scott’s hands have moved from his back to the hem of his shirt and when they trail up and down his sides Stiles arches forwards, body pressed flush against Scott’s hard chest.

Scott and Stiles part with simultaneous groans when Stiles accidentally rubs their crotches together and he can feel Scott’s nails gently dig into his back (but he isn't worried about him wolfing out because it’s Scott and Stiles would trust him with his life). Stiles throws his head back when Scott hesitantly grinds their hips against each other again; Scott, of course, takes advantage of Stiles’ bared neck and latches his lips onto the pale skin just below his pulse, nibbling and sucking at the skin until he’s gasping. Scott pulls away and inspects the result of his efforts with a grin, the once unblemished skin of Stiles’ neck is now host to a decently sized hickey (which was already turning from red to purple thanks to the fact that Stiles bruises like a peach). 

Stiles pulls a hand from Scott’s hair to grip Scott’s chin, pulling him into another toe-curling kiss that leaves both of them breathless. And when they pull away they're both positively beaming but neither of them care, too consumed by their own happiness to wipe the shit-eating grins off their faces. But there’s still fresh tear tracks on Stiles’ face and they both know in the back of their minds that the scene Scott walked in on just minutes ago isn't something that can be ignored, or shrugged off, or pushed aside. Scott’s smile softens slightly and gains a sadness that Stiles desperately wants to kiss away, his hand reaching up to cup Stiles’ cheek (and Stiles notes idly that Scott’s hands are definitely bigger than his own skinny ones, and much warmer). Stiles doesn’t move when he swipes his thumb softly over his cheeks to wipe away the evidence of Stiles’ meltdown and the moment is bittersweet. Stiles moves one of his own hands to rest over Scott’s, smiling faintly and Scott is mesmerised (as he always is) by the way Stiles’ warm brown eyes crinkle at the corners and shine in a way that reminds Scott of the brilliance of stars. 

“Stiles…” Scott breaths his name in complete awe and Stiles’ eyes widen at how honest and open Scott looks as his eyes rake over his face, looking for all the world like he was trying to memorise every detail of his expression (Stiles can’t really blame him because he’s doing exactly the same thing; he wants to remember every single detail about this moment).  
“Mmm?” Stiles lazily smiles at his.. best friend? boyfriend? Eh, he’ll figure it out later. 

“You’re beautiful” A blush spreads across Stiles’ nose and cheeks at the words and he ducks his head to hide the shy smile playing at his lips. Instead of replying he leans in and places a kiss on the underside of Scott’s adorably wonky jaw. Scott understands what he can’t quite put into words (which is funny for him because in a normal situation he never shuts up) and lets Stiles get comfortable; he ends up snuggled into the crook of Scott’s neck, his lips just barely brushing against the skin there.

“I love you, Scotty” He mumbles tiredly, tightening his arms, which loop around the tops of Scott’s arms, and placing a kiss against Scot’s neck. It’s a rather sweet display, especially for Stiles, and for once he captured every thought floating around both of their heads in a single sentence (rather than ten).

“I love you too Stiles”

And then Stiles is snoring lightly, breath fanning across Scott’s neck and sending shivers up and down his spine. He knows that when Stiles wakes up they’ll need to talk about what’s been happing in the week he didn't see Stiles, and that they’ll need to speak to the pack about it all, but looking down at Stiles’ peaceful face he can’t bring himself to think too much on it. He decides that what happens will happen and there’s no point agonising over it. So Scott gently shuffles around and lays back on Stiles’ bed, said boy unconsciously moves into a more comfortable position; sprawling across Scott’s upper body, his head resting over his heart, one hand clenching the fabric of his shirt, and his legs tangled with Scott’s.

Scott shakes his head at how much of a cuddler his best friend is (or should he say boyfriend? That’s also something they’ll need to talk about in the morning…) and wraps his arms loosely around his smaller waist, falling asleep almost immediately. Stiles, for the first time in the past week, sleeps through the entire night.

**Author's Note:**

> ........ the feeeeeellllsssss!!! Stupid adorable Scott being stupid, but still adorable, and an insecure Stiles= this fic. Literally have no idea where this came from...   
>  Also! I totally forgot to mention this earlier but I am currently still watching the 1st season of Teen Wolf, so any information in this fic (about the pack or otherwise) was just assumed knowledge I have from reading a crap-tonne of fan fiction and the spoilers occasionally on Tumblr (shammeeee! sshhhhaaammmeee) So, despite the fact that I probably screwed up a lot of smaller details, I hope you enjoyed this fic


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